


his salvation is her

by thanknamine



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, cloti mentions but none too big
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 01:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20073883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thanknamine/pseuds/thanknamine
Summary: five instances where it feels right with each other. —zerith; au.





	his salvation is her

_his salvation is her_  
( final fantasy vii © square enix. )  
● _zack and aerith_ ●  
**notes: **some run-on sentences because they're fools in love.

.

.

_i. summer_

It'd been under summer's breath when he first met her, when he first catches a glimpse of her, then another glance and another look at those pretty lively eyes of sparkling green and those luscious lips that always curve in stunning smiles and those long bangs of hers that frames her face just right—

And that's when the answer to an unspoken question is answered.

Zack Fair had fallen in love.

He hadn't known, couldn't pinpoint at all, when it had happened. One moment, he'd been crouched down to tie his rebellious shoelaces that had untied the fifth time this morning and the next moment, he was standing back up and tries to walk and _actually trips_ and falls into a sea of hibiscus and lilacs and daisies—

Then she shows up, her and her twinkling laugh.

"That looked like a nasty fall," he watches her say with those pink lips. He didn't know her name and she glows like an angel, so Zack simply names her Angel—_for now_. "Need some help there?"

Angel offers her hand. Zack is stunned by her radiance, or perhaps it's just the rising sun messing with him. As if falling into her flowerbeds isn't the most embarrassing thing ever to happen at eight-thirty in the morning, but at least most people slept at this time and this fact is what Zack relied on to maintain his composure despite smelling like some walking bouquet gone awry.

He reaches for her, slowly, as if she'd ascend him to some far heaven—but no, Angel simply grasps his hand and tries to pull him up. Zack wonders how could she if her arms don't seem like they've been lifting dumbells like his.

But because he's Zack, a gentleman (_Gentleman Zack has a nice ring to it, he thinks_) who believes all women are good unless proven evil, Zack smiles; beams and grins and stands up with her, and he decidedly concludes that Angel is tenfold prettier now that he's properly up because his angle allows him to see the sunshine reflecting her eyes, her face, her hair, _her_.

"Thank you, fair maiden!" he tells her, his blue eyes jubilant as they meet hers and by Gaia, they are quite lovely. "You've rescued this runner from certain fatalities."

Cloud would have his head for the delay, because A) he is Cloud and Cloud is eerily scary when he goes quiet and angry, _all work and no fun_, B) Zack is his running partner and they have practice every morning, and C) Zack Fair doesn't feel like going to his practice run and track meet because there is an angel right in front of him.

"Oh? You're an athlete?" Angel asks, her voice practically chorusing with tens of other angels. She turns back to her flowers, poppies and sunflowers, with her watering can and he knows that she expects an answer from whatnot the side glances she gives him to gauge indulgence.

He says, proudly somewhat, "A runner! I've participated in many races, but most of them are local so far."

Angel stops watering the poppies and gives him a look. Zack watches how she tilts her head a bit when she looks curious. "I think I've seen a few of those. Sometimes, the race courses required passing by here—" Angel pauses, briefly, only if to contemplate about Zack. "—but I haven't seen you come by, I think." She looks sheepish, but he really doesn't mind.

"Probably because I only come through this way if I'm in a hurry—like a shortcut."

In fact, as he speaks, Zack's right pocket vibrates; keeps on vibrating again and again, and _dear Gaia_, Cloud really needed to tone it down with his passive aggressive texting to tell Zack to hurry his ass over before Coach Angeal threatens to cut both their legs off.

"You don't seem like you're in a hurry," Angel remarks, a clean eyebrow arched as she snatches a packet of seeds to fill up an empty flower pot marked with _azaleas_. "Nothing exciting happening today?"

Zack rubs at the back of his nape. "Some practice runs, warm ups, and whatnot. Gets my blood pumping, but nothing really _exciting_."

Coach Angeal would have some colorful words for that remark. He's a man of practicality and sees everything thrilling once the positives were sorted out from the negatives. Zack sometimes share that ideological way of thinking, but sometimes, it really is as boring as it sounds.

With a soft laugh, Zack notices Angel's eyes look to him from the planted seeds. "But that means you have a _real _race coming up soon, right? That'll be something to be excited about." She nearly knocks over a smaller vase of tulips behind her, but she catches herself just in time and she keeps on smiling with colors on her cheeks that resembles the pink roses lounging by the window sill. He does her a silent favor and pretends it didn't happen too.

She looks cute like that, when the corners of her lips reveal a dimple at her cheeks.

"I suppose," Zack ends up conceding, crossing his arms at his chest for a moment until he finally has enough of the vibrating his phone messages kept giving off. Angel stares and there is a small lift of the corners of her lips, like she's utterly amused and Zack wished Cloud had better timing unlike the time Cloud finally figured out whether it was _boxers or briefs_ for Zack in the locker rooms that spring.

"A friend?"

Zack hopes his grim expression says it all when he nods. "Yeah, which means I should get going. Sometimes he's more scarier than our coach." It's not often Cloud gets angry, but when he does, it's not pretty. Then again, it's never pretty when anyone is angry, Zack had learned—like Tifa on her bad hair days.

Fully prepared to head back, the future scenario is clear to Zack in his mind: he'd turn, run to practice, get chewed out by both Cloud and Coach Angeal, sentenced to run an extra mile, and all would be normal again.

It's just that turning around and letting his arm accidentally swipe at three vases—filled with dahlias and bluebells—and letting them break into shards on the ground before he could do any of that wasn't part of the picture, _never was_, and he wonders with grief how had he become so accident-prone this one morning.

"I'm really sorry, I'll—"

"No, it's fine!" Angel's hand presents her palm to him, a sign of stopping, and he stares as long as he is frazzled. "It was an accident and you were rushing. I'll clean up; you should go to your meet. I've held you long enough." She brushes her fingers against her hair, bringing her brown strands behind her ears before she bends to brush up the shards with the end of her broom. "No objections!" Angel exclaims to his face, her smile relieving him of any fear that she might be upset, and she makes a _shoo _gesture.

Still, it leaves him on a bittersweet note, so Zack guiltily says as an ultimatum, "Okay, but I'll make it up to you one day! I _swear _it!"

Angel smiles like she always has; keeps on smiling even as Zack rushes off in a hurried stride, sprinting to the track, and that same smile was kept in his memories for the rest of the day.

.

.

_ii. autumn_

When the weather gradually shifts due to seasonal changes, the air is always cold and the winds would pelt at his face and Zack would hate it because Coach Angeal always makes them take a hiatus break until the next spring hits.

Zack _loves _to run. How could he survive long enough for next spring with all this boundless energy to burn off?

Clad in two coats, a scarf, gloves, and winter boots, one has to wonder why Zack is even outside—but to Cloud Strife, it seems obvious enough that he needn't to bat an eyelash when Zack had persuaded him to take a walk outside like some nine year-old ready to make snow angels to last a lifetime.

Cloud didn't think anything of it until they reached a shop that he'd recognize from the tale Zack had told him during summer. He remembered, vaguely, flowers and Zack smelling like some disaster drenched in too much perfume when he arrived to practice and Cloud had distanced himself as if his best friend was some skunk. "Going in?"

Zack had been eyeing the open sign on the front door, and the cozy appearance of the small shop's door that had a pink canopy above is alluring to him because beyond this door would be warmth, and beyond this door is _her_.

With a roll of his eyes, Cloud sips at his orange juice (_his girlfriend, Tifa, had stolen his bottle of heated milk, the ones that Cloud drinks every morning when it's cold out and she left him with nothing but orange juice—and of course, he loves her too much to exact revenge when it's so darn cold and orange juice is healthy to drink, so why even argue?_) because he really didn't see what's so hard about making this decision: go in and apologize. "It'll be summer again by the time you make a decision."

"But what if she's mad at me?"

As the supportive best friend that he is, Cloud offers a shrug—casual, nonchalant, uncaring, and _not helping Zack at all_. "She would've tossed that broom at you before you left." At least, that's what he could have concluded if he were to rely on Zack's version of the story. It's really none of his business, so Cloud sees no point of meddling or butting in or whatever it was Zack liked to do to _him_.

Horrified, Zack murmurs to himself, "_What_ did Tifa see in you?"

Stricken by the winds, Cloud marches onward with some apparent destination in mind because Zack observes how Cloud keeps a hand on his phone whilst the sipping of his juice. Eventually, Cloud is not visible anymore; maybe Tifa had texted him when Zack was thinking about his poorly-concealed guilt about wrecking Angel's flowers what had felt like moons ago.

"Well that was interesting."

An involuntary yelp erupts from Zack, then he jostles and bristles like some drenched feline as he whips around and comes across two familiar eyes of green that were haunting him for a while.

"O-Oh… Hey there!"

Angel laughs, and he's reminded of how he went months without hearing it after he left that day. "Aerith. My name's Aerith." Her arms cross behind her back, her merry eyes twinkling. "I forgot to tell you that." Aerith gives a small hum, a hint of teasing in her tone. "I'd been wondering how long it would take for you to come back and ask me, but I never saw you anymore. Then today, I was sweeping the shop inside and there you were! Sort of like magic!"

"I came because you secretly _wished _for it, madam," Zack teases back with good intent, a grin habitually on his lips. Aerith replies in giggles and that's when he finally sees that she's currently donning the same light blue-white sundress from their last meeting, the one with frills and lace and made her look like an angel. Only this time, she comes with a scarf and thin cardigan and her sandals had been substituted for brown ankle boots—cozy, yet simple. "Aren't you cold in that?"

Gaia, here he was clad like some eskimo and there was Aerith only clad in a light cardigan and scarf.

"I'm not really bothered," she admits, her shoulders giving a slight hunch before she grabs his sleeve and practically drags him in her shop. "But it looks like you are, though," Aerith muses, amused, and Zack's unsure if the pink of his cheeks is from the warmth of the shop, the coldness outside, her, or all three. "I like being outside, so I'm used to weather changes, I suppose."

"You parents were never bothered that you liked being outside?" Zack begins to ask, unraveling his scarf and gleefully seating himself at a chair by her cashier counter and he didn't mind that it looked like a dainty thing with a wired-floral backing and the cushion some soft tint of pink. A chair's a chair.

Aerith had been carefully pouring tea, enough for two, in her fine set of china. "My parents are up there—" Aerith, nonplussed, points upward with a finger upon seeing that her tea is nicely set up. "—while I'm down here, but my foster mother doesn't mind, though. We live in a really peaceful area, until I decided to move here on my own."

_Numbskull_, Zack berates himself. "Er, sorry about that then…"

He's astounded, wordless, speechless, because Aerith simply _laughs _at him. "Silly, don't be! It's not your fault." She looks amused, not sad, if anything. "Death is something no one can control. I'm just happy that they went out with a smile." But despite her reassurances, Zack couldn't help but see that slight glimmer of wistfulness in her eyes—it's a wistfulness that seems far away. "Tea?"

"Does it have milk?" he asks back, feeling that a new topic better suited them for tea, and lifts up the corner of his lips for her.

She seems to understand him about it. "No, but I put in some sugar."

"Sugar in tea?" He gives her a look.

Cloud would probably wonder if the world had been at the verge of an apocalypse—he _loves _his milk and often urges Zack to try things containing milk. Milk tea is one of those things and oddly enough, it stuck with Zack through the years.

Aerith returns the look. "Something wrong with it? I happen to like it!" Her fingers pick up a small spoon. "Only with one teaspoon, though. Anymore would be a health hazard, but it balances out nicely with that bitterness." She encouragingly pushes the cup to him, by a bit, and smiles. "It doesn't hurt to try," she hums, eyes alight.

"Alright, alright…" He dramatically rolls his eyes, takes that cup by the handle and sips and slightly grimaces—Aerith just had to giggle at that face of his; it looked like he'd been fed chilli peppers tenfold deadlier than normal ones.

Even though Zack is quiet, Aerith can tell he didn't fancy sugared tea from the way he'd childishly stick out his tongue, places the cup on the plate, and pushes the plate back to her. "Not a sugar-in-tea person, duly noted," she jests, heartily. "Maybe biscuits?"

He looks at the small plate of the dessert mentioned and takes one, eager to wash out whatever that aftertaste is. "Biscuits are my lord and savior," Zack murmurs, mockingly, and pretends that she didn't just laugh at him because he's Zack and he knows that angels don't mean harm. "Thank you, biscuits."

She shakes her head at him. As if in domino effect, he grins.

"I'd say something about that, but—" Aerith chimes, folding her arms across the countertop so she can lean forward. "—you forgot to tell me your name. Hm, maybe I should call you Mister Sugar-Tea-Hater…"

Zack almost chokes on his second biscuit, laughter bubbling in his stomach. "That's better than what coach calls me."

"What does he call you?"

"Puppy. Puppy Zack." Zack begins to roll his eyes and decides to not tell her that he'd lost count of how many times Coach Angeal made him suffer with that _embarrassing_nickname. "Just Zack, though, for you, madam," he adds, wearing a smile he hoped was charming. "Zack Fair, pleasure."

"Hm, so Mister Sugar-Tea-Hater-Puppy-Zack-Fair?"

"_Hey!_"

She giggles, but then they sit in silence for a while; it's a peaceful kind of silence and Zack likes it that way.

He munches at her biscuits while she nips at hers, and eventually he finds himself eyeing every bit of her quaint homey shop of flowers—daisies, sunflowers, roses, tulips, dahlias, poppies, azaleas, bluebells, lilacs, lilies, and _dear Gaia_, he can't name them all.

So he asks her about it, thirsty for a backstory.

"I make sure I have variety," she says a second later, cradling her chin as her elbows prop at the counter. "Customers get tired of the same thing every time. It seems to be working but it's usually quiet here, mostly during the cold seasons."

"Maybe you could advertise it a bit. I didn't even know about this place until… Er, yeah," he meekly trails, still humiliated at his blunder that day. "Hey, come to think of it, I still owe you for that!" He'd still terribly horrified that he'd somehow ruined three of her vases and a flowerbed to boot; then he'd ran off to leave her to clean it up! He'd be a bloody pulp and then some if Coach Angeal found out—the man is a stickler for manners as he is about their running.

Not to mention, Zack couldn't stand that look of her eyes when it happened. Aerith had appeared pale and her eyes widened at her fallen vases. Her soul may be kind enough to dismiss it, forgive him, but it's also fair if she was mad about it. He could only imagine how much money it could've cost to afford them, especially for an independent shopkeeper as young as her.

Aerith hums in contemplation. "You can make it up by telling me about yourself," she eventually decides on, presenting him with a smile that radiated her innocent eyes.

He mirrors her, finding it difficult to decline such a simple request. There's no harm in acquainting with her; he would _love _that. "Well to start, I was born and raised in Gongaga!"

And soon, it fell into a cozy, homey atmosphere: Zack's eager hand motions allowed Aerith to giggle with merriment, the kind that made her look glowing and pretty and beautiful all the same.

He shed some light on his background; of how he came to befriend a young rookie Cloud when the blond first joined the team, and how Angeal became a surrogate father to Zack through the years. He told Aerith how Cloud was often shy around Tifa, a girl who'd been a part-time tour guide for the Nibelheim sights hen she didn't have classes at college, when their team came to visit one warm summer years ago. He'd told Aerith how Coach Angeal raised him more than his own parents after he'd joined the team back in his starting first year of college.

Aerith, in return, told him how she was a little lost when it came to the city—she'd been by herself, fresh out of her university with a major concerning plant science, and trying to accommodate and blend in. She told him how she spent most of her early years in the countryside, how she grew up to adore flowers.

Zack learned that love of hers had given her a few mockers, but then she'd tell him how she, at the ripe age of seven, shoved one of her bullies into a field of blossoms and they ran off smelling like a perfume mishap gone wrong, and Zack would laugh until his face was pink in color.

He liked it best when Aerith smiled with him.

It didn't feel like such a cold day after that. Zack went home in high spirits and Cloud was worried when he heard Zack's oddly cheery voice echo from his phone because Zack Fair was never _that _hyped up on a day with weather he didn't like.

Cloud didn't bother to ask what happened after that.

.

.

_iii. winter_

It'd been winter when Zack found out that she had always wanted to start a flower shop.

"I adore flowers—people don't give them enough credit," Aerith had once told him, her voice full of loveliness and sweetness and captivating him all at once. "Did you know that azaleas symbolizes remembering home?" She doesn't skip a beat nor stumble or fumble or anything as she gingerly runs a finger down the petals of the azaleas by her register. "I have them by my side here because it's all I have to remember my mother. She's all the way on the other side of town; it's too far for me to make a trip here and back."

Zack tugs his scarf tighter, chilled by the turbulent winds that he'd endured coming here. "Can't she come here then?" His head tilts to the side, and Aerith regards him with a sad kind of smile.

"She doesn't like it in the city. I can't blame her, though." Zack sees her grab a broom and busies herself with sweeping, but he didn't know what for because the floor looked clean. "It was too crowded for her; she liked it quiet."

Zack fingers a small packet of seeds he'd been helping her arrange the past hour. "But you're here, in the city. She's not bothered by it?"

He hadn't expected her to giggle. "My mother doesn't like the city, but she's always supported me no matter what. Even if my dream is to open a flower shop in the city! She's always been selfless like that." Aerith sweeps the spot near his boots, eyes beaming. "What about you, hm? I've told you my dream, so it's fair you do too!"

"True!" he smiles back, humored. "After all, my name is Zack _Fair_!" She rolls her eyes at the awful pun, but says nothing: that's his cue. "You know I run track, but…" Zack pauses a moment, finding his words. "That's not what I wanna devote my life to, per say."

"Oh?" Aerith stops her restless sweeping, resting her weight against the broom and she leans into it.

"It's just that—" Zack begins to stare at the window; it's covered by frilly curtains, but he stares as if seeing past it. "—there's so much to do out there. I can't just narrow it down to one thing."

It's always been Zack's wish to see the world; see the sights, explore, travel, discover new wonders—he wanted all of that.

He explained to her his dream to wander, to lend people his helping hands where one need them, to be free. The fact that he wished for this while still rather young, Aerith thought it was risky but ultimately warmed up to it. Zack found it comforting that she cared so much; his parents support him despite the obvious worries of how he could possibly earn a living that way. His parents and Aerith seem to share the same logic, and Zack understood it.

However, when it came to his freedom, he'd pay any price. "So I've decided to become something like a… jack of all trades? I'm good at a lot of stuff!"

Aerith laughs rather teasingly. "Like tying your shoes!"

That day when he crashed into her flowers—it was a subtle hint, too subtle as it was from long ago, but there hadn't been a day passed where Zack could forget it. Cloud had given him a look and told him to switch to velcro soon. He couldn't really argue against a good point like that, so Zack did just that.

"Please don't," he begs her, melodramatic, hands clasped in a pleading manner.

She pretends to look innocent. "Wha—"

"_Don't._"

She gives him mercy soon enough, letting the broom rest against the wall and she joins Zack by the little couch in her shop she'd placed for visitors staying more than a while. He's one of those people she found always coming back—it was rather sweet in a way, how he kept greeting her, even if that meant trudging past snowfalls to get here.

"You look cold."

Zack rubs a finger atop his nose after a slight chill. "Gee, thank you."

The cold didn't do wonders for him. Cloud sometimes went outside—he kept saying he's fine with the weather and doesn't ever seemed bothered—but Zack didn't enjoy it that much. Rarely people are outside on snowy days here, and he likes it when people are outside. It's always lively during summer's time, but not during winter: everyone is all cooped up. Zack isn't the type to sit still for so long. Angeal could vouch for it, and so would Cloud.

He'd been busied with blowing his breath into his cupped hands, hoping it would do him some good. His gloves were somehow lost into oblivion and not even Cloud knew where it was in the abyss that is Zack's bedroom. The tips of his fingers were pink and he planned on blowing more at it, but he pauses.

There's weight on his shoulder and Zack had expected it to be a blanket or even the handle of that ragged-old broom of hers falling on him. He turned, yet he sees brown and curls and more brown.

"Feeling better?"

It had a voice: Aerith's. Aerith's head is on his shoulder.

Zack didn't know what to make of that _thud _in his chest or if it was just the cold playing with him, but he knew that was a lie because he could remember it had happened, too, when they first met. "Don't tell me you're already sleepy," he weakly says back, his grin a little too lopsided. "It's only seven in the evening." How dumb of him. She didn't even sound sleepy. _Good going, Zack!_

She pokes his arm. "Is that the thanks I get for offering you shelter, biscuits, and warmth?"

Gosh, he hoped that was rhetorical. "Hm, would you prefer I bow down at your boot-clad feet then?"

He can't see her face, but he can tell she's beaming and her eyes are teasing. "That'd be nice."

Zack could've laughed, freely. "Changed my mind! I like where I am right now. Sorry!"

He feels a motion where her head was—she was shaking her head at him, yet her hair (_her cheek_) was still pressed on his sleeve. Thinking about their talk earlier, there were some gears beginning to activate in his head; they whirled and buzzed and gave him an idea. But that idea would need clearer weather for it to work, it needed sun.

He'd tell her soon, but not now. He will have to jot it down a rundown sticky note on his fridge to remember, but he's sure that it will enlighten her quite a bit. He will wait until the warmth of the sun shone on them.

He'd love to see those skies stretch far, to see how blue they can become. Maybe he could see them with Aerith someday, together, when the time came.

.

.

_iv. spring_

It'd been spring when Zack told Aerith of his idea to build a flower wagon for her.

"C'mon, it'll be so great!" he begs her, his pleas a tad bit whiny from the skepticism she gave him. "I'll build it _for _you! You don't have to worry about grunt work!" As if it'll sweeten the deal somehow, he adds, "You can be in charge of decorating it!"

Having pitched the idea of a flower wagon and had been waiting for a while to propose it, Zack was certainly under the impression that Aerith would agree without much fuss. The idea came with the prospect of trotting the wagon across the streets—it would allow her to be on the move, to find potential customers and not needing to sit still and wait by some old register for Gaia-knows-how-long.

He wanted her business to boom, and maybe… She might even sell enough to afford a trip home someday to her mother. An angel deserves nice things.

However, Aerith's main concern was if they _couldn't _find anyone. That was reasonable to consider. In fact, Zack thought long and hard about it.

She'd distribute flowers and manage the cart while he could help with advertising and bringing in potential buyers. They'd collaborate; Zack is more of a helper, really, but he would not want her to do this alone. Aerith is a pretty girl and no doubt she'd attract people, but who knows what _kind _of people would actually approach her. He'd be a sort of bodyguard-slash-helper for her.

"Hm…" Aerith takes a gander at his face, his eyes practically yelling at her with hope. Would it really work? "If you're confident about it, I guess it doesn't hurt to try new things…?" she slowly concedes, despite it sounding like a question rather than a simple statement.

Zack beams. "Awesome!" His fist pumps up and he didn't even feel embarrassed because Gaia, she agreed! That was worth something! "I'll go hunt down some wood and wheels and whatever else we need to get started!"

And soon enough, after several hours of attempting to sketch a plan and prioritizing where to start building, Zack and Aerith stood back to eye the wagon at its finished stage.

After seeing how clunky the wood was, Aerith suggested switching to woven material—it reminded Zack of material people used to make woven baskets. Zack had doodled some poorly-drawn wagon and the details were managed by Aerith instead. It still resembled the wagon in their plan, yet, as Zack cups his chin and stare profusely at the actual contraption to the drawn one, the more _their _real wagon resembled some baby's carriage.

He hadn't been entirely certain on the little blue hood canopy added, but that was one of Aerith's additions and he didn't plan on refuting anything she suggested since she's better at thinking than him.

The handle had a bar, extending upward, and _dear Gaia_, it looks so much like a baby's carriage! Zack didn't hate it—it was rather endearing and cute, suitable for a simple girl like Aerith, but wouldn't it give off the wrong impression to folks if they walked around wheeling it?

No matter, it was already made and Aerith seemed quite optimistic about it, more cheery than before. "I think we did a good job!" Her hands clasp together, blithe. "We should load it up with the flowers and we'll be ready to head out."

Quickly, he helps her plop in several collections of sunflowers, tulips, and daisies. Their colors were vibrant; Zack thought it seemed like a real flower wagon now, and it satisfies him to see it holding up nicely.

Aerith begins to wheel it, pushing it as if it were a stroller, and soon enough, time found her and Zack somewhere near a children's playground. It would've been a happy picture—but Aerith's face was sullen and Zack wore sympathy on his as they stopped near the teetertot.

"Spring's just started," he softly tells her, bringing her in for a comforting hug. Her hands weakly cling on the back of his shirt; she didn't seem too energized anymore. "It's your first day—you'll get more people eventually." He strokes her hair.

Four hours of trudging the streets, a few blocks down Aerith's shop, and she'd only sold two flowers: one tulip to a tired woman in need of a pick-me-up going home and a sunflower to another woman's daughter who'd begged for one.

Two sellers on the first day had been uplifting news, but the weight of not accomplishing enough had deterred Aerith a bit.

"I hope so," she whispers, to him only.

The next day, they went out again. Zack was wheeling this time as Aerith smiles at people, her braid swishing to and fro. She looked considerably happier. It did not, at all, look like she'd spent five minutes clinging to him, forlorned. He knew that he didn't say much yesterday, so it must've been from her own resolve to stay so cheery. He liked it better this way: when she smiles.

When the day came to an end in soft orange glows, Zack felt a surge of pride bubble in his stomach as he watches her count up the gil she'd racked up today. "Told ya it'd get better!" Seven customers had been stupendously better than two. Then, he winces. "Oh, maybe that's it… I'm just bad at advertising." Yesterday, it was him who'd been persuading people to buy a flower.

Maybe that's why nobody wanted to approach them: he'd been too excited.

"We could switch each day. You advertise one day, then it'll be me," Aerith suggests kindly, but Zack's quick to shoot it down as quickly as it had came.

"It's fine—I think you're better at it than me, to be honest. You're…" He awkwardly trails off, a hand at his nape in contemplation. "...friendlier-looking than me."

Aerith gives a hum, mischief in her eyes. "Well, that little boy earlier _did _seem scared of the big bad Zack wolf charging at him."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Could you blame me? I was excited, okay?!" That'd been when she made her second sale of the day and he, being an _overly optimistic puppy_ as quoted from Angeal, couldn't help but charge when he spotted the boy eyeing one of her daisies. "At least he bought something, that's all that matters!"

Leaning forward, hands lightly clasped behind her back, Aerith hums. "Maybe he was scared of your eyes."

"What about 'em?" he asks back, and she's reminded of why she even thought of his eyes.

"They're really bright," she ends up telling him and it was certainly true to some extent. His eyes resemble oceans because of the sheer blueness, but then Aerith looks at them again and instead, she proceeds to think about skies and skies and more skies. More of an afterthought, she adds, "They're really pretty."

He mockingly cradles his chin in thought. "So I'm a _pretty _boy?"

He'd been leaning down to her, meeting her eyes with a teasing light, but then she pushes him away and giggles somewhat bashfully. "You need to stop that!"

.

.

_v. interlude_

"He's a nice guy," Tifa Lockhart speaks up after a moment of sipping at her juice on this sweltering summer day.

Some of Aerith's brown bangs hang over her eyes, yet she makes no movement to brush it aside as she looks at her friend. "He is," she confirms, firm.

There is a silence, then. Tifa watches as the brunette snips at some of the flowers near the entrance of the shop with those dainty little scissors, a bag of fertilizer right beside Aerith.

Sometimes, when Cloud is away on his practice meets, Tifa enjoys coming here—she knows Aerith doesn't mind; the company is always nice.

They met a bit back in college. They were not roommates, but they were classmates in one of their elective classes. Tifa hadn't been much of a social butterfly, unsure of who to befriend on her first year—but then Aerith kindly greeted her on a day when they had to find group partners for a final project, and the rest becomes history and rather predictable like how all college friends meet and become friends.

And of course, having female friends also means lending an ear and listening to rambles of girl talk and guys, and the guy in question Tifa is hearing about, Tifa thinks, is a fool for going so long without making much progression with Aerith.

She fingers her straw absentmindedly. "So what will you do?" Tifa resorts to asking, simply.

"...I don't really know." Aerith had finished her snipping and is now watering the blossoms in a little pot hanging from the ceiling on a secure chain. "I'm not a high school girl anymore. I know from this feeling that I like him, but…" There's a shrug; it's not noncommittal, but it's a shrug that says something like _I'm lost_ than _I don't care_. "I guess I'm just complicated?"

"Aerith, don't be silly," Tifa goes on to chide. "Feelings like these are natural—and it's bound to happen at some point. There's nothing wrong with falling in love."

Tifa knows that _Aerith _knows that she isn't perfect despite the boundless amount of school gossip and rumors. Tifa knows that Aerith likes to smile and is so bright like the sun, but not even Aerith is perfect and she is allowed to be confused over her feelings as much as the next girl who'd been stuck in this cycle of unsure love.

Tifa had seen Zack a few times—they've actually met a while back. He visited her college campus for a race and she had been entrusted with the task of guiding him around the large campus and they became friends when she found out that Cloud was on the same team as him. She liked him, in a platonic way. Zack always liked to make her laugh and crack jokes when things seemed a bit grim and gray.

Zack's a nice guy. Aerith's heart chose well.

"I know, but… First moves are a little hard to pull."

"What happened to the Aerith I knew who threatened to pull punches and _rip his balls off _when some guy on campus kidnapped me during the homecoming party?" Tifa asks, half-laughing.

That had been a stellar memory; from that point on, it led Tifa not to be deceived by appearances. So when she found out that Aerith, spunky and always smiling and optimistic, was having trouble with a guy, Tifa didn't know what to think of it.

With reddening cheeks, the girl keeps herself busy with planting a new pot of roses. "She went away on a long trip and won't come back."

"To where?" Humored, Tifa eyes the brunette.

"To somewhere that he isn't at," murmurs Aerith finally.

Tifa is glad that she finished her juice because if she had heard that while she'd been still sipping it, the table of poppies in front of her would be tainted with juice and saliva from giggling. "I'm sure something will happen soon, between you two." Her smile softens, like she is lost in thought. "You just need to be patient. A lasting love requires a lot of waiting."

FInally, Aerith's green eyes glance to Tifa on her chair. "You must've went through a lot yourself, hm?"

Thinking about spiky blond hair and a perpetually-forever frown, Tifa's eyes sparkle and she laughs, carefree. "I have a lot of experience!"

.

.

_vi. aftermath_

"I have twenty-three tiny wishes!"

Zack's eyes swerve away from his can of soda to her face, and she thinks he looks radiant that way. "Hm? Twenty-three…" He looks a bit puzzled, but she expects him to—because she never told him what these wishes are about. He had only asked if she had some wishes of her own.

"Too much for you?" Her eyes crinkle at him, her tone light.

He smiles back, but gentler than usual. "You better write them down 'cause I won't remember all of that!" He taps the side of his head with a finger.

She smiles, more to herself, and gestures him to sit for a bit. She grabs a pen and paper and she neatly writes at the register counter where she knows he can't see and she lists each of them with something positively happy bubbling in her chest.

_I want to sell flowers with you._

_I want to see you at your races._

_I want to be there when you win._

_I want to see you smile._

_I want you to be happy._

Then she stops; crosses all of those out in delicate inked lines and she grabs a new piece of paper and scribbles with her trembling heart that seems like it would burst soon.

When she gives it to Zack, she wrote one thing and she gives it to him with earnest eyes. "You probably still won't remember all of them—" He takes it. "—so I summed it up to one thing."

_I want to be with you._

She watches as Zack blinks rather owlishly as he reads it, then again and again and _again_—it seemed like eons to her at that point.

He looks up and she could have jumped, but then he asks her something and his eyes just seem tenfold brighter than before and the tips of his ears rather pink and Aerith really likes that look. "How about one date, you and me?"

Her heart begins to soar like the skies that he told her he wanted to see. "Sure!"


End file.
